


main street america

by ohcinnamon



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Road Trips, Route 66 - Freeform, just two boys and the open road
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 01:33:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13307607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohcinnamon/pseuds/ohcinnamon
Summary: Patrick just sighs. “I can’t believe I just let you talk me out of bed in the middle of the night to go on a road trip with you.”“Not just any road trip,” Pete says, shoving the map in Patrick’s face. “Look at what’s marked. This is a Route 66 road trip, baby! Main Street America!”“Ah, yes, because that makes it better."





	main street america

**Author's Note:**

> happy 2018, everyone! i wanted to kick off the year by actually posting something loosely based off my own life (shocking, i know). i often drive to st. louis just because i can and i figure...well, the boys have probably done that at some point in their lives, right? they had to.

“Fuck,” Pete murmurs, shoving at his pillow. He’s so fucking tired that he can’t sleep at all, if that makes any sense, and it’s not helping that he has nothing to distract him from this midnight hellscape of boredom. “Patrick, you awake?”

He already knows the answer. Patrick had gone to bed early, for once. He’s been asleep for at least two hours. It’s not gonna stop him from asking.

Andy’s sleeping over at their apartment tonight, so Pete’s got the couch — but not really, because anyone with a brain knows that he’s not staying on the couch for more than five minutes. No, he’s in Patrick’s bed, the place where he sleeps better than his own bed most of the time.

He rolls out of bed and stretches far above his head, feeling his bones crack — damn, is his body really that old already? — and peers out the window. There, parked down on the street, is Joe’s mom’s old, beat up van, sleeping quietly by the curb as the minutes tick by. It’s an unspoken urge that he’s had for months, building up just underneath his skin, and it’s about to break through the cracks and explode if he can’t contain it.

He walks back to the bed as calmly as possible, staring down at his best friend’s curled-up form, and decides that he can’t take it anymore. He can’t remember the last time he’d slept, he hasn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday, and he’s so shaky he feels like he’s going to vibrate straight out of his skin. “Patrick. I know you’re awake now. Answer me.”

“Pete,” Patrick replies calmly, not even bothering to open his eyes. “If you’re waking me up to play a prank on me, I will actually kill you this time. You think I’m kidding, but I will murder you.”

“I know you’re not kidding,” Pete retorts in a stage-whisper, flopping down onto Patrick’s side of the bed hard enough to make both of them bounce. This earns a long, drawn-out groan from Patrick, but at least he opens his eyes. “ _Shhh,_ shut up a little. Do you want to wake up Joe and Andy?”

“It depends,” Patrick says, finally rolling over. “Are we doing something that’s going to make me want to punch you?”

Pete grins, less shaky than before, and kicks the blankets off of Patrick before he can protest. “When _don’t_ you want to punch me?”

This is how Pete eventually gets Patrick out of bed and into Joe’s mom’s van, snagging the keys from the hook by the door and not bothering to explain why or where they’re going. In Patrick’s defense, he still doesn’t know. Pete doesn’t have a defense. He’s just an asshole.

“So where are we going?” Patrick asks, settling into the passenger seat and cranking up the heat. “Can I sleep on the way there?”

Pete pulls the crumpled, coffee-stained map out of his pocket, smile wide and bright under the streetlights. “So I found this map at our last show, all marked up and everything.”

“Oh god,” Patrick groans, because he already knows where this is going. “You’re not telling me that we’re going to follow some random route a stranger marked out on a whim.”

“Not quite,” Pete says, spreading the map out across the dashboard. “I did some research on the route, and this is _totally_ a road trip map.”

“So...we’re going on an impromptu road trip?” Patrick asks, one eyebrow raised. “You do realize we didn’t pack anything, right?”

Pete scoffs, waving that off. “We can find whatever we need on the way — clothes, toothbrushes, whatever. We still have some stuff in here from our last couple of shows, so we should be good to go for a little while, anyway.”

Patrick just sighs. “I can’t believe I just let you talk me out of bed in the middle of the night to go on a road trip with you.”

“Not just any road trip,” Pete says, shoving the map in Patrick’s face. “Look at what’s marked. This is a _Route 66_ road trip, baby! Main Street America!”

“Ah, yes, because _that_ makes it better,” Patrick grumbles, but he takes the map from Pete to study it anyway. Pete loves him for it.

“Go back to sleep,” Pete murmurs, pulling away from the curb with a smile on his face. “I’ve got it from here until our first stop...or until we need gas. Whichever comes first.”

“Please,” Patrick snorts, reclining back in his seat. “Like I’d trust you to keep us from crashing in the middle of the night. No, I’m staying up with you until I see the sun, at least. No dying for me, please.”

He’s out cold by the time they hit the city limits.

It’s a few hours down the road before Pete realizes he might not have thought this through all the way. His stomach grumbles with discontent, and the gas tank is looking dangerously close to empty. He’s just glad he brought his wallet with him, at least, because he should have enough cash to get them through this trip — probably, that is. Maybe.

He shakes Patrick awake, earning a groan in response. “Trick, wake up, we’re gonna stop at a gas station soon. I was wondering if you wanted me to pick something up for you when I go in."

“You’re being weirdly nice to me,” Patrick muses, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. “When’s the last time you slept, Pete?” Pete bites his lip in response, and judging by the way Patrick sighs at that, he knows exactly what Pete means by that. “Okay, when was the last time you ate, then?”

“That’s a funny story, actually…” Pete trails off, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel nervously. His _stupid_ fucking stomach decides to growl right then, betraying him, and he laughs anxiously.

Patrick punches him in the shoulder — which hurts, but is also kind of nice, because it feels real. Everything else is...blurry, sort of. At the moment, any kind of physical contact is all right in his book. “Okay, Pete, we’re going to stop soon to get gas, and when we do, you’re going to eat something. I am just looking out for your basic wellbeing here because I care about you, so do _not_ argue with me.”

Pete doesn’t.

They stop in Springfield to get gas, and Patrick convinces Pete to scrounge together a meal from what’s available. It’s just a 7/11 hot dog and a small bag of Doritos washed down with a cherry Slurpee, but he has to admit it does feel better than nothing at all.

“You want me to drive?” Patrick asks when they climb back into the car, holding a half-empty blue-raspberry Slurpee and a Twix bar in his hands, looking...well, still as tired as he had when Pete had dragged him out of bed in the first place. Even if Pete’s tired too, he’s not gonna force Patrick to drive when this hadn’t been his idea; besides, Pete’s used to staying up for insane amounts of time. Not sleeping is kind of second nature by now.

“Nah,” Pete says, shaking his head. “We’ll be there soon. Go back to sleep, and I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

“All right,” Patrick says skeptically, buckling in as they pull out of the parking lot. “But if you start feeling bad, you have to wake me up, okay?”

 _Feeling bad_ , Pete thinks with an internal laugh. He hasn’t really felt anything better than _okay_ for the past few days, but this right here is better than feeling numb.

He makes it about another hour going fine before the anxiety begins to set in. Patrick had fallen back asleep twenty minutes into the drive, so Pete’s alone for this one; just him and his thoughts and the open highway. There’s really not even any other cars to share his thoughts with, just the occasional pair of headlights every once in a while. It’s kind of freaking him out, and he digs his fingernails into the steering wheel in an attempt to try to ignore it. Having a breakdown right now is not going to help _anything._

He glances over at Patrick, who looks so peaceful and...and...and _beautiful_ as he sleeps, and his stomach drops.

Reality begins to sink in right then; he’s convinced a very tired Patrick to run away with him without telling anyone, he hasn’t slept in days, and he has no idea when they’re going to get wherever they’re going, or when they’re coming back, if they even are. All they have is the money in Pete’s wallet and the clothes on their backs, and that’s _it._ Holy _fuck_ , this could be a really, really bad idea. He may have just fucked up the band and his life and _Patrick’s_ life and oh god oh god oh _god._

He pulls over on the side of the road without warning just as the clock hits 4:15 AM, his breath coming in ragged shudders because _oh my god_ , he is going to combust if he thinks about this any longer.

“Hey,” Patrick mumbles as he’s roused from his slumber by the van stopping, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “You okay? Where are we?”

“Don’t know,” Pete says, staring out the windshield, the numb feeling beginning to come back. _Fuck_ , this is exactly what he was trying to escape by doing this.

“Pete?” Patrick asks, his voice small. He sounds very awake and very concerned now, and it sets something off in the pit of Pete’s stomach. “You gonna tell me what’s up, or…?”

Pete throws the map against the windshield and pulls his knees to his chest, pushing his face into the worn denim of his jeans to let out a muffled scream. The tears burn hot on his cheeks, and he finally just decides to let them all go. Patrick, bless him, doesn’t fight him, for once; doesn’t tell him he’s being overdramatic, doesn’t make fun of him, doesn’t immediately demand to go home — even though Pete would take him, if he asked. No, he just sits in the sudden quiet, gingerly places on hand on Pete’s knee, and holds on for a while, until Pete’s breathing starts to go back to normal.

“You still wanna go?” He asks quietly, in a small, cautious voice, and Pete’s heart turns over.

“Yeah,” Pete whispers back, his voice muffled by the denim. “I don’t wanna go _back_ , if that’s what you mean. Not yet.”

“Then we don’t have to,” Patrick replies softly, his hand searching for Pete’s in the darkness. Once he finds it, he intertwines their fingers gingerly, in a way so sudden and sweet that it makes Pete’s heartbeat stumble over itself. “We can keep going or stay right here or...or…whatever you need. I’m here for you.”

Pete turns his head to look at him, his gaze soft. “Thank you, Trick. This means more to me than you know.”

Patrick shrugs, wiping away the tears with his free hand. “Don’t worry about it. Now come on, let’s get going again before we waste too much gas. I want to get to St. Louis before sunrise.”

Pete pulls himself together and starts driving again, and this time, Patrick stays up with him to keep him company. With all of the crying out of his system and small talk to keep him entertained, he feels a bit reenergized, ready to complete the journey they set out on once more. It’s not long before they can see the city in the distance, and Pete can feel the excitement building in his chest.

They cross the bridge over the Mississippi River, and Pete hears Patrick suck in a breath at the view. It’s no Chicago, but...it is pretty nice. The starlight, and the river, and the Gateway Arch…he could grow to like that.

“Where do you want to go while we’re here?” Patrick asks, unfolding the map once more. “There’s a couple of different places that I know of, but they’re probably not open yet.”

“The Arch,” Pete replies confidently, glancing over at the gigantic steel structure. “I want to go see it.”

“Okay, then turn right here,” Patrick says, pointing at the next traffic light. “I think we should be close, but there’s so many side streets I can’t completely tell which one is the best to be on to get there.”

“It feels so small, compared to Chicago,” Pete muses, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “This city does, I mean. There’s practically no skyscrapers or _anything._ I thought big cities were supposed to feel...I don’t know, _endless._ ”

Patrick shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think that’s how _endless_ feels.”

“Then what _do_ you think it feels like?” Pete asks, turning down yet another side road. “It’s not like it’s easy to describe.”

“I think...I think you _know_ when you feel it,” Patrick says, resting his chin in his hand. “It’s not something you can describe, you know. Fuck, I don’t know where we’re supposed to park.”

Pete shrugs. “We’ll just park down by the river. It’s not like there’s going to be much traffic at five in the morning.”

It takes them a good twenty minutes to actually get down to the river and park, but once they’re climbing the steps toward the Arch, the trouble of getting here is quickly forgotten. It makes all the driving and not sleeping worth it.

“Come on, let’s go!” Pete exclaims, jogging up the steps excitedly, Patrick reluctantly shuffling behind in tow.

“I didn’t remember it being this _big_ ,” Patrick admits in a small voice, neck craned all the way back to stare at the gigantic silver structure in awe. Pete looks up, too, his breath catching in his throat. The Arch reflects the dim skyline, glittering with the moonlight bouncing off the river, climbing into the sky. And it’s not nearly as tall as a lot of the skyscrapers he’s seen in his life, but it doesn’t _have_ to be, because... _fuck_. Looking at this gigantic gateway makes him feel small for the first time in a long time.

He likes feeling small, sometimes. It reminds him that the world doesn’t rest solely on him. Not everything is up to him. It’s comforting.

“I think I know why they don’t have a lot of skyscrapers in St. Louis, now,” Pete says, awestruck, and Patrick grins at him.

“Do you feel endless yet?”

Pete looks over at him, still radiant even in the dark, and it feels like the air’s been sucked out of his lungs. “Yeah, I think I do.”

They meander down to the river after a good ten minutes of staring up at the Arch and Pete carving their names into the base of it with his keys — Patrick had just rolled his eyes and let him — and now they’re sitting on the ground, watching the muddy water swirl past them further down the bank. It’s oddly peaceful, Pete thinks, just _being_ here for no reason other than the sole fact that they _can._

“Why wouldn’t you let me drive?” Patrick asks, absentmindedly chucking a rock into the river. It lands with a small _splash,_ breaking the quiet.

“I don’t know,” Pete admits, breaking his gaze from the river to look over at Patrick. When he does, his heart skips a beat; Patrick is staring right back at him, just as intently. “Driving makes me feel like there’s something I actually have a grip on, you know? Sometimes I like going places just because I _can._ It’s something I can control.”

“So running away is a control thing, too?” Patrick looks up, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I’m not trying to make fun of you or anything, I just genuinely want to understand you.”

Pete nods, leaning heavily against his side. The softness of Patrick’s sweater is warm, comforting, so Pete rests his head on his shoulder and breathes it in. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, I’ve never really thought about it that deeply before, but it makes sense now that I do.”

“And taking me with you when you run,” Patrick says, his voice suddenly very quiet. He slips his hand into Pete’s again, just like he did in the car, with a softness behind if that there’s never been, and it feels like the end of a lot of things, but the beginning of something better. His palm is sweaty and a bit shaky, but to Pete it’s comforting, almost, to know that he’s not the only one feeling it. “...how do I fit into all of that?”

Pete sits up and looks right into his eyes, swallows hard. He’s drowning in that deep, sweet blue gaze, but for once he doesn’t want to breathe. “I think...I think I’d always run away with you. And I think you already know that.”

Patrick bites the inside of his cheek, smiles shyly, his eyes glittering with something deeper, sweeter. “Wanna feel endless again?”

He tilts his head to the side a little and his long eyelashes flutter as his gaze drops and Pete knows, right then, that everything is about to change.

Patrick kisses like heaven, tastes like blue raspberry Slurpee and morning breath and _promises_ , and Pete can’t get enough of it. The palm of his hand burns hot against Pete’s cheek, or maybe it’s the other way around, but Pete hopes it leaves a mark so he can stare at it forever, remember that this really happened. He wants the pressings of those fingertips seared into his skin, into his brain, into his mind.

Patrick pulls back way too soon, looking two parts nervous and one part awestruck, and it’s an expression Pete’s never going to forget. “Was that...okay?”

“ _Okay?_ ” Pete says incredulously, his eyes wide. “Of _course_ that was okay — that was so much more than okay, oh my god, you have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Me either,” Patrick breathes, his gaze going soft. “I mean, holy fuck, I _love_ you, dude.”

“You love me,” Pete says, a little breathless. “You _love_ me, Patrick Martin Stumph, you _love me_.”

Patrick half-shrugs, hiding a sheepish smile. “I thought it was kinda obvious. Would I have gotten out of bed for anyone else?”

“I love _you_ ,” Pete announces, climbing into his lap. “Kiss me again.”

“You’re so _bossy_ ,” Patrick complains, but he does. They kiss until the sun peeks out from over the horizon, casting its first few rays into the dark sky. Patrick laughs when Pete nips at his bottom lip, and it’s kind of awesome that he’s sitting here and making out with his best friend and it feels so _normal_ , like this was meant to happen all along. Pete realizes that maybe he already knew that.

And when they finally get back to the van, Pete just pushes him back against the side of it and kisses him breathless.

He is never, ever gonna get tired of kissing Patrick in his stupid, crazy life, _ever._

“Where’s the next stop on the map?” Patrick asks after he’s pulled away, looking a little frayed at the edges, but not worse for the wear. Not like Pete.

But things change. People change. Pete is standing by the Mississippi River on the wrong side of the Illinois border in the middle of the night, and he thinks he might be changing, too.

Pete looks back down at the map, moves under the glow of the streetlight to read it better. The red zigzag line drawn through the states seemingly at random stretches out for a while before finally easing out into a circle somewhere in Oklahoma. “Tulsa. The map says Tulsa.” He looks up at Patrick with an inquisitive gaze, and Patrick, stupid, _wonderful_ Patrick, is right there, as ready to follow him to the ends of the earth and the middle of nowhere as always. “Patrick, do you want to go to Tulsa?”

Patrick smiles faintly, lacing his fingers with those of Pete’s free hand. “Let’s go.”


End file.
